When Gu Qingyue, a history teacher in 2025, was on the brink of death after a car accident, she thought her life was over. But her consciousness fell into the dying Southern Song of 1255, where she possessed a fifteen-year-old orphan girl outside Lin’an. The Emperor System granted her a delayed aging process: six hundred years passed before her black hair finally turned white.
At the blood-red dusk of the Battle of Yashan, Yue Chengzhi died on the battlefield. In the imperial palace of Dadu, Kublai Khan asked if she would rule the realm alongside him. On the dragon throne in Yingtian Prefecture, Zhu Yuanzhang wrote, “In all my life, I have wronged only you.” In the bitter wind outside Songjin, Huang Taiji softly asked, “Are you tired?” She spent six hundred and sixty-six years expanding her domain in the margins of history textbooks, not to live forever, but to reshape this land into what she believed it should be. In 1921, by West Lake, an eighty-year-old woman held a newspaper and closed her eyes with a smile.
